


Hips Don't Lie

by hideeho



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Buck Feels Things, Eddie Dances, Fluff, M/M, Oblivious Idiots to Obvious Idiots, Pining, The Team knows, everyone knows, jealous buck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23927557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hideeho/pseuds/hideeho
Summary: Buck finds out Eddie knows how to dance.Payback is going to be sweet and this time it’s going to come with a soundtrack.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 65
Kudos: 651





	Hips Don't Lie

“You’ve got some moves, little man,” Buck cheers with a laugh, watching as Chris shows off his version of the latest TikTok craze. He had been practicing it all week, over and over until it was as close to perfect as he could get. Eddie had been sneaking him updates, all of which were saved to his phone with enough pictures of Christopher he had to upgrade his phone early for more storage.

Eddie has a strict no social media policy when it comes to Christopher, but he records the routine to show Eddie when he gets back from his session with Frank.

The moves are still clunky with his crutches, but Christopher’s giggle is infectious and as far as Buck is concerned it is better than any other video he has seen.

“He gets it from his papa,” Isabel coos, clapping in earnest as Christopher takes an awkward bow.

“Eddie can’t dance,” he replies without thinking, only realizing after he says it that he has no real evidence to back it up. This just feels like something he would know.

Judging by the slow arch of Isabel’s brow he is clearly in the wrong. “Edmundo? My Edmundo? He’s a _beautiful_ dancer.”

“Are you sure you aren’t a little biased as his abuela,” Buck teases, blinding her with his patented Buckley smile. He tries to picture Eddie with his squared shoulders and soldier's stride letting loose on the dance floor and he can’t see it.

“I’m serious,” she insists, waving her hand at him as if she can shoo his doubts away. “He was part of a group before the Army. I told him he should keep at it, but he didn’t want to waste time on something that couldn’t pay the bills. That was his parents talking if you ask me, but what did this old woman know? I still have all his routines on VHS somewhere at home. Or I think they’re on the YouTube,” she offers helpfully, giving his chest two pats before going to swoon over her grandson.

Eddie has dance routines on the internet.

Eddie Diaz.

Mr. Serious War Hero.

Mr. Too Cool for Animal Crossing.

Mr. Roll His Eyes at Buck’s “Antics”.

Payback is going to be sweet and this time it’s going to come with a soundtrack.

* * *

When they learned Bobby was a figure skater, it took him a total of sixteen hours before he had tracked down Bobby’s former dance partner, found a picture of him with a mullet and ordered a life size cutout. Which he is pretty pleased with, especially considering he was still on shift when the clock started.

Hunting down proof of Eddie’s secret past took more maneuvering than he anticipated, but a call to Eddie’s abuela led to a call to Pepa, who ended up calling Eddie’s older sister in Austin who hunted down one of Eddie's old buddies on Facebook. It took some time, but he finally got the name of the dance troop. The Firestarters.

And oh, he is going to give him _so_ much shit.

Once he shuffles through a few amateur arsonist videos, flagging the appropriate videos in the process, he finally finds what he’s looking for. He’s expecting awkward posturing and laughable moves, the kind that makes your family proud and leaves you dying of embarrassment a decade later. What he finds is a long series of postings, the videos sporting an impressive number of views for an amateur dance troupe out of El Paso. He clicks the first one and—

Fuck him.

They’re all in their early twenties and clearly not professionals. Even so, the moves are sharp and impressive; a combination of hip-hop styles that are all raw energy. He spots Eddie almost immediately even when hidden in the back.

He’s young, so young, his hair longer than he has ever seen it; falling over his eyes in true boy band heartthrob fashion. He wants to mock the look, the predictable white tank top (like hell he’ll call it a wifebeater) and oversized jeans hanging low over exposed boxers. The jeans are ridiculous and they have to get in the way, but it’s hard to think of the best way to give him grief when Eddie’s hips keep _rolling_ and thrusting and it’s goddamn distracting.

Buck startles slightly as Eddie makes eyes at the camera and reminds himself it’s not like he’s looking at him directly. Eddie hooks his thumb under the hem of his shirt, lifting the tank up to reveal a too long torso and an enviable series of abs. He knows firsthand how hard it is to achieve that look and the fact Eddie was so disciplined even then makes his stomach twist in a way he can’t explain.

He was leaner back then, face softer and moving with a swagger that is so different from the man he knows. It’s hard to compute that this Eddie is his Eddie.

Okay, not _his_ Eddie, but future Eddie. Current Eddie. An Eddie who apparently knows how to move like _that_.

Buck falls into a deep dive. Video after video, eyes searching for any glimpse of Eddie he can find. He even finds a few rehearsal videos one of the members posted on their own page. It’s more guys shooting the shit than people dancing, but he can’t look away.

_”Go Diaz! Go Diaz! Go!”_

He finds himself biting back an ugly wave of jealousy at people Eddie knew over a decade ago and never talks about now. People who call him _Diaz_.

It’s irrational, he knows that, but they got an Eddie that goofs around in a breezy manner Buck has only ever seen glimpses of. This Eddie that laughs easily and makes fun of himself. He has to remind himself that this is Eddie before Shannon. Before the war. Before all the loss and horrors that have hardened him over the years.

In the darkness of his room (when did it get dark?), bathed by the glow of his laptop he can’t help but imagine himself with the Eddie in the videos. This cocky asshole with moves that have him shifting uncomfortably in his bed. Buck of three years ago would have either punched this kid or let him fuck him against the wall. Now he just wants to tell him to keep laughing; that he doesn’t have to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders no matter what he thinks.

He shakes his head, reminds himself that this was about good-natured ribbing and not— Not whatever train of thought his brain is trying to take him down.

He clicks on the next video and is delighted to see that it’s Eddie taking front and center. He’s still got on those ridiculous jeans which hang indecently low, but this time he’s shirtless, revealing defined obliques and a sharp V at his hips that Buck wants to trace with his thumbs. His tongue. Whatever Eddie will allow.

(Nothing, you idiot. He’s straight and your best friend and why did he have to be straight?)

He wants to ask him what his body fat was back then, but he knows Eddie will only roll his eyes at him. _”Why on earth would I know that, Buck?”_ It doesn’t matter. He’s hotter now, arms and thighs thicker, skin graced with scars and tattoos that are missing from this Eddie on the screen. Still.

The music is pounding and he doesn’t realize how far he has leaned forward until he knocks his forehead against the top of the screen. He doesn’t care. Eddie is rolling his hips, chest drenched in sweat and smug smirk plastered on his face.

Eddie’s beautiful.

He’s so screwed.

* * *

He changes his ringtone.

Makes it the same song as Eddie’s starring performance. Hell, he takes his phone off vibrate for the first time in his life just to see if Eddie notices.

He doesn’t.

Or if he does, he doesn’t say anything.

Buck is starting to think he’s going mad. This had all started as an adventure in embarrassing a man who isn’t easily flustered. Only now it’s all he can think about. He has watched the video more times than can possibly be healthy; mesmerizing the way his muscles move so enticingly under tanned skin.

He thinks about it bed, length in hand and sweaty from a heady mixture of lust and guilt. He thinks about it in the shower, no less guilty as the spray of the shower does little to muffle his moans.

It’s wrong, so wrong, but he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop.

They’re cleaning the truck when the ringtone goes off in his pocket, bringing back a particularly delightful fantasy from the night before. He’s three seconds away from dousing his phone or himself with the bucket of dirty water when he sees Eddie move.

It’s a small movement, totally unnoticeable unless you’re a 6’2 idiot with a staring problem who doesn’t know what’s good for him.

It’s barely a pop of his shoulders, a small shuffle of feet, lips singing along silently as he absentmindedly washes the truck. Then he rolls his hips and Buck’s brain short circuits. That motherfucker is dancing.

“See something you like,” Chim asks with a pop of his gum, startling him so badly he stumbles and knocks over the bucket water beside him. Chim is laughing even as Eddie looks over at the commotion.

“What’s going on,” Eddie asks, looking both amused and confused.

“Yeah, Buck, what has you so flustered,” Chim teases, far too smugly for Buck's liking.

“I— I mean, I was just— That is to say—” And they’re both staring at him and he knows he’s turning pink. Which is stupid, they don’t know anything. They couldn’t possibly know he has been getting himself off on the regular thinking about his best friend who would hate him if he knew. No, not hate him, but it would be awkward and horrible and he can’t lose the best thing that has ever happened to him.

“Eddie can dance,” he blurts, far too loudly. Before Eddie can even get a word out of his surprised mouth Buck barrels on. “He can dance! There are videos on YouTube. He was in a group and everything.”

“And you didn’t tell us? Oh, I have got to see this. Hen, _Hen_ —” Chim calls out, rubbing his hands in evil delight.

Buck darts a look over at Eddie, who is standing in awkward amusement. He looks like he wants to ask him about it, but whatever question is on his mind remains a secret as Hen and Cap approach. “Apparently our Buckaroo here has some dirt on our good friend Eddie,” Chim explains, Cap and Hen perking up in interest.

Buck grabs his phone out of his pocket to show them, only realizing after he has handed it over that it might be odd to already have it up and loaded.

They play the video right then and there, a jumble of surprised laughter and impressed commentary. “Look at that hair,” Hen laughs, followed quickly by Chim stating, “I’m too busy processing that outfit.”

“You’ve been holding out on us,” Hen tsks with a grin, looking at both Buck and Eddie as she does.

“Ignore them, Eddie. There is nothing wrong with being a dancer. I had to take lessons myself when I was a skater,” Cap offers in support, rolling his eyes as that only inspires another round of snickering from Hen and Chim.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Eddie says, taking the teasing in stride; only the pink tips of his ears betraying any discomfort.

“Oh my god there are more,” Chim exclaims, already moving to click on the next one before Cap snatches the phone away from him.

“Alright, that’s enough. We all have jobs to do. You can watch Eight-Pack here on your own time,” Cap drawls, handing Buck his phone as they all go back to their respective duties.

Eddie grabs it from his hand and looks at the video himself. “Wow, a lot more views than the last time I saw it.” For a brief irrational moment Buck wills the truck to tip over and bury him whole.

“Oh, wow, really? Must be a lot of bored people out there,” Buck deflects, feeling hot under the intensity of Eddie’s stare. Eddie can’t possibly know half of those views by now must be from him. It’s impossible, but he always looks like he can see right through him.

“How long have you known about this?”

“About a week.”

“And you waited this long?”

“Oh, well, ambushes take plotting and all. Didn’t the army teach you that?”

“Ha. Ha,” Eddie replies, handing him back his phone as he does. “So, what do you think of my performance,” Eddie asks, managing to make himself seem taller despite the two inches Buck knows he has on him.

“I think it’s a good thing you learned about belts.”

A surprised laugh passes Eddie’s lip followed by a familiar roll of the eyes as he shoots him his middle finger.

“Hey Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you let them call you Diaz? What changed?” There is a twitch to Eddie’s eye, a sudden strain to his expression that lets Buck know he stepped directly onto an invisible tripwire. “Hey man, forget it, you don’t have—”

“I was Diaz in the military,” Eddie starts cautiously, as if weighing the risk of proceeding forward. “I can be Diaz on the job. The guy that takes orders and shuts everything else down. Outside of that I want to be Eddie. It helps...It helps to keep them separated.”

Buck knows this is not information easily given.

“I get it, I think. I appreciate you telling me,” Buck replies. _For trusting me._ He knows how rarely his trust is given.

“Thanks for asking,” Eddie says, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder before returning back to wash the truck. Buck is slow to follow, the feel of the touch still lingering behind.

He doesn’t need the Eddie in the video. He has this one and he’s even better.

* * *

Going dancing is Cap’s idea.

He suddenly finds himself the seventh wheel on the world’s most awkward group date. Although, that would make Eddie the eighth wheel. Are they extra wheels if they’re a pair? Only, a pair implies they’re together and—

“Are you sure okay, man? You look like you’ve swallowed a lemon,” Chim goads as he passes out the next round of drinks. Maddie is tucked sweetly into his side as the others make themselves busy on the dance floor.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, knowing he sounds like a petulant child. When Cap suggested dancing he thought they’d go to a club. He could reasonably pass when the main requirement was grinding or shuffling back and forth.

But no, that would be too easy.

Eddie has taken them to a salsa club. A small place clearly full of regulars who knew exactly what they were doing. Buck already sticks out like a very tall and very white sore thumb, but he knew once he hit the dance floor he’d prove every stereotype about awkward gringos in thirty seconds flat.

Look, he has tried to learn to dance. He even took lessons when bouncing around South America, but he had been deemed hopeless enough to know he is a lost cause.

So not only is he going to look like an idiot, but it is clear Eddies a regular here. Here. A regular. He went out dancing. Without him. He’s not proud of the angry flare of jealousy that burns through him, but this feels like the kind of thing he should know about.

“You don’t look fine,” Maddie presses, forever concerned as she gives his arm a squeeze.

He has been hiding in the booth for the last hour. But how is he supposed to share the dance floor with Eddie when he is moving like that? Because of course his dance skills aren’t limited to hip-hop, no he is skilled at salsa as well. All sharp angles and hard lines pulsing and it wasn’t fucking _fair_.

Sure, Eddie is currently in the arms of a sixty year old woman, but he is still giving it his all and for the first time in Buck’s life he wants to push a grandma.

He really is losing his damn mind.

Buck grabs another shot and slams it down, sulking down further into the booth.

“You’d probably have more fun if you actually joined us,” comes Eddie’s voice, low and slightly breathless. He’s going to have dreams about that voice later. “You going to tell me what has you scowling so much?”

“These people know you.”

“They do,” Eddie acknowledges.

“Why,” he snaps, far more biting than he intends. Maddie and Chim exchange looks before making their silent escape to the bar. Traitors.

“Well,” Eddie begins, leaning against the booth with a lazy grin. “I needed a way to release some steam and apparently street fighting is bad for me.”

Buck snorts sharply, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly.

“You never told me.”

“Should I have?”

“I would have gone with you,” Buck argues, hurt evident in his voice at the realization that perhaps Eddie didn’t want him to.

“So you can scowl at me from the booth the whole time?”

“I’m not scowling.” He’s scowling.

“You’re scowling. Come on,” Eddie adds, grabbing him by the arm to pull him out of the booth. Buck could stop him if he wanted to, but he finds himself following Eddie like he always does. Anything to keep him close, even if only for a time. “I should have invited you out. Not really sure why I didn’t. Maybe because I thought you’d find it stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. Not if it helps you,” Buck offers, needing Eddie to know he supported any release that didn’t leave him broken and bloody.

“So you’ll dance with me?”

What? “What?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, pulling Buck flush against him with a hand on his hip, the other going to grab his hand. “Dance with me.”

“Bossy,” Buck smirks, going along with whatever the fuck is happening. If anyone is giving them any strange looks he is none the wiser. His focus is solely on the way Eddie’s hair is stuck to his forehead from sweat, the feel of his hips pressed against his own. “Why do I have to dance the girl part? I’m taller.”

“You want to lead?”

Right.

He tries. Really, he tries. But how can he focus on anything when Eddie is clouding his every sense and swiveling his hips against him in a way that’s about to get real fucking awkward. It has been awhile, and it’s Eddie, and Hen’s giving him a knowing look from over Eddie’s shoulder that he can’t decipher but is pretty sure he should be objecting to.

“Shit. Sorry,” Buck winces, knowing he just smashed Eddie’s toes under his foot.

“Relax, Buck,” Eddie soothes, making a valiant effort at helping Buck find a rhythm. “Just relax,” Eddie’s hand is squeezing his hip and he might be a terrible dancer, but he’ll happily subject himself to this every day if Eddie will just keep holding him like this.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I know I’m a bad dancer.”

“You’re fine.”

“I’m terrible,” and he swears he didn’t step on Eddie’s foot to prove a point.

“You’re _fine_.” Eddie pulls on his hand, spinning him around until he is pressed flush against Buck’s back, his head hovering over his shoulder with his lips dangerously close to the shell of his ear. Eddie still has his arm wrapped around him, his hips moving against his back in perfect time to the beat. “I’ve got you. Trust me.”

Always. He must say it out loud because Eddie is spinning him again until they’re face to face.

“Does that mean you’ll come dancing with me again?”

“Might need some lessons,” Buck admits, slightly breathless but not from exertion.

“I happen to know a good teacher.”

“Yeah? I’m pretty hopeless.”

“That’s okay, I like a challenge. Besides, I have a lot of steam to release,” he adds, rolling his hips directly against Buck’s.

“You’re straight,” Buck blurts, his dick twitching in interest at the contact as Eddie startles slightly. He wants to kick himself or run out of the club. Maybe both. He can make it to Mexico by morning. Start fresh. They need firefighters down there.

“I’m not... that straight.”

What the fuck does that mean? “I don’t know what that means.”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything. If that’s going to make this weird. Us weird. But if it doesn’t, then I thought you should know that I’m not straight. More like a squiggle.”

“A squiggle?”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie grumbles, embarrassed and tense. He can see his desire to bolt, but Eddie is forcing himself to stay put. This means something. Everything, maybe. He’s working hard to process it all, but doesn’t trust himself to believe this is real. “I like you. I want to be with you. I thought you knew.”

_"How would I know that?_ ”

“I’ve been flirting with you for two years!”

“You’re a terrible flirt!”

Just like that Eddie is laughing and Buck is laughing and it’s all so stupid and surreal.

“I like you, too,” Buck adds, dropping to rest his forehead against Eddie’s.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“This might be a terrible idea,” Eddie points out.

“Most of our ideas are.”

“All of our friends are staring at us.”

“Then we better give them a good show.” This time Buck takes the lead, grabbing Eddie’s face in his hands and pulling him in for a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongue until Eddie settles them into something slower, more intimate. This isn’t a kiss born out of desperation. This is a kiss that promises more to come.

He smiles against Eddie’s lips as he hears Chim and Hen’s unified, _"Finally!"_

Finally, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by some wonderful and hilarious people! Thank you for putting up with me as I wrote this. Sorry for the title, when all else fails just quote Shakira. 
> 
> Your comments and kudos are appreciated and adored.


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